


There Will Be Time

by GalaxyGazing



Category: The Hobbit (2012)
Genre: M/M, bandaging a wound
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-24
Updated: 2013-01-24
Packaged: 2017-11-26 17:33:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/652730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyGazing/pseuds/GalaxyGazing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ori is injured in the goblin caves, Bofur volunteers to bandage him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There Will Be Time

Ori is too young to be on this journey; that is the unspoken truth known amongst the group. However, with the number of participants willing to reclaim Erebor as frighteningly small as thirteen, no one was about to turn away volunteers who were technically of age. Even young Gimli had wanted to tag along and, though he had been denied, the group now wondered if it had been a mistake not to deny Ori as well, who was just barely his senior.

At the end of the day, they were desperate, and perhaps desperation drove those ensnared by it to be a bit selfish. Ori shouldn’t have been shivering out in the cold, bruised and dirtied from the road like the rest of them. He should have just been given a hot drink and sent to bed.

The realization of this did not come from a lack of stamina, for it was not as though Ori couldn't keep up with them. In fact, the only complaint he had uttered throughout the trip was his distaste for the elves’ selection of food. The young dwarf was quick on his feet, able to carry his own supplies, and even capable of withstanding a lumpy bed of earth every night. No, the understanding came when Ori had a near brush with death—a slingshot against an army of goblins was a kick to a mountain, too insignificant to do any more damage than incite the creatures to dive for him.

All of the other dwarves had their own goblins to deal with, just an unfair enough number for each to handle. But when entirely occupied with their own foes, there was no one free to aid inexperienced Ori.

They made it out alive, of course, but the same thought crossed everyone’s mind: greenness was Ori’s biggest weakness and, though it was unjust to punish one for their lack of years, the brutality of the journey would not discriminate. Out here, the penalty for error, lack of strength, and even youth was death.

They were all grateful that a few scrapes along the side of Ori’s ribs were all that he walked away with. It was too late to send him home now and the dwarves were silent with a lament so palpable you could cut it with an axe. Today they had come too close to losing someone, the youngest at that, and such was the terrifying nature of the quest they were on.

However, for the group to feel guilty was the last thing Ori wanted. He desired neither pity nor protection. He had known the risks involved when he had agreed to the journey. To be honest, it scared him too—any individual who valued their life would have been daft not to walk away a bit shaken—but Ori blamed no one, nor wanted to turn back. This was a quest he was a part of now, for better or for worse.

As soon as they found an acceptable place to camp that night, the dwarves dismounted their ponies and began to prepare the area. Before Ori could begin unrolling his sleeping comforts, Dori came to him and gestured towards his injury, “You need to get that cleaned,” he murmured to his brother in low, strict monotone, unwilling to accept any protest.

“It’s fine,” Ori replied, avoiding eye contact.

“Don’t be stubborn. It needs to be cleaned and dressed,” Dori sighed, taking a strong hold of his kid brother’s arm.

To be fair, Dori was only reacting as any concerned sibling would and, though Ori understood that, the last thing he wanted right now was to be fawned over. He knew Dori and Nori felt twice the responsibility for him because they were related. He knew how appalling it must have been for them to see a brother they had held in their arms as an infant sliced by the claws of a disgruntled goblin.

He understood that and it was _because_ they were so close to him that he couldn’t ask them to help him right now. Ori met Dori’s eyes—a silent apology for his youth and an unspoken promise that he would be more cautious in the future. _I know everyone needs to look out for themselves on this journey. I don’t ask you to look after me anymore. I take responsibility for this wound._

“I can do it myself, I’m not as helpless as you think I am,” were the words that Ori finally managed, tugging his arm away from his brother’s grip. The force of doing so panged his side but he refused to let it show.

“It’s not that I think you’re helpless, Ori,” Dori lied, guiltily, “Side wounds are difficult to attend to by yourself. You have to turn your body to address it but that’s they very area that’s wounded, so when you twist—“

“I’ll do it for him.”

Both brothers looked up as Bofur approached them. He was the only dwarf in the camp with a smile that night.

“Are you sure, Bofur?” Dori asked.

There it was again, the very overprotection that Ori didn’t want—Dori asking Bofur right in front of him if he wouldn’t mind relieving him of his duties. _Are you sure you wouldn’t mind being burdened with him?_ The pit of Ori’s stomach coiled in a combination of frustration and sadness.

“Of course, it’s no trouble. I’m pretty much set up for the night anyway.”

When Dori told him, “Thank you,” Ori almost wanted to cry, but that would have just proved everyone’s point. Instead, he walked out of camp with Bofur who explained that they need to go down by the river so they could get water to clean the lacerations.

The freshwater was freezing cold. Ice that had freshly melted from mountain tops was now sopped up in a rag and being pressed to his side. Ori tried not to make a fuss but the repressed noises and winces manifested in his body trembling.

“I know,” Bofur cooed in understanding, smile never leaving. Ori couldn’t even tell if it was a real smile or if the older dwarf was just shouldering the sadness of the group. Hope was something that they all had but happiness was quickly dwindling. Ori was comforted to be in the company of the last person in camp with a kind face that night; a face not weathered by the road and circumstance. Now that he thought about it, he supposed they all must have a weakness: Ori’s was age and perhaps Bofur’s was optimism.

Ori did not reply, but concentrated on other things for the remainder of the dressing. He noticed Bofur had folded his shirt for him, all neat and perfect, and placed it on the grass. He didn’t have to do that.

He noticed the light touch he was using, a subtle act that made a world of difference. It reminded Ori of how during the first few years of his life his mother would attend to his scrapes and bruises, soft hands the biggest comfort a mother could offer. At a certain point, Nori and Dori took on the responsibility of cleaning him up and, though they meant well, they were always so quick and rough with him that the cleansing often hurt more than the actual abrasion.

The hand that wasn’t washing the cuts held him steady by the other side of his ribcage. It was an alarmingly pleasant touch—the warm, calloused hand splayed over one half of his body was a sensation made so much more enjoyable when countered with the sensation of the stingingly frigid rag on the other half of him.

A few tugs of a tight bandage would secure him for the night and Ori slipped back into his clothes after murmuring a quiet ‘thank you.’ Bofur nodded and motioned to head back to camp.

Before Ori could even process the request in his head, it had left his mouth,

“Please, stay.”

Bofur stopped in his tracks and turned to look at him. Suddenly sputtering to explain himself, Ori tripped over the words,

“Everyone back at camp,” the young dwarf motioned to his freshly bandaged side, “Right now…they’re all blaming themselves for letting me come on this journey. I’d like to stay with someone who isn’t regretting that decision…just for a little while.”

Just as selflessly as Bofur had offered to aid him, he gently placed the medical supplies on the ground and returned to Ori’s side. They sat down together quietly, Bofur’s back against a tree and Ori lying on his back to give his middle a rest from the ache of keeping upright.

The light was quickly dying and nothing but the sound of a hurried river filled the eve. The water reflected the pink glow of sunset and Ori was mesmerized for a short while, enjoying the company of a dwarf whose presence was soothing even in silence.

It was awkward and lovely all at once, for the two had never spent any time alone together prior to this, but Bofur radiated a certain kindness that stemmed from his nonjudgmental nature. Still, after asking him to stay, Ori felt that he owed him a bit more of an explanation,

“I’m not afraid to die,” The young dwarf elaborated.

With an opening line like that, a million questions could have followed. A million reprimands to take one’s life more seriously. A million ways to cast the line off as the ignorance of youth’s imagined immortality. A million replies that rang with disbelief and skepticism.

Yet, all Bofur asked was, “What _are_ you afraid of?”

Ori was awestruck for a moment that he has been taken seriously, the shock of which rendered him grateful enough to be willing to share his answer,

“I…I don’t know. Not getting the chance do some of the things I always wanted to, I guess.”

“Such as?”

“Oh, uh, little things," Ori hadn't expected him to actually be interested so he no time to prepare anything but the truth, "Fall in love maybe, have a family.”

Bofur beamed, eyes twinkling, voice as hushed as the dimming daylight, “Those aren’t little things…and you’re not wrong to want them.”

Ori turned to face him and made eye contact for the first time since they'd wandered away from the group. The exiting sun was laying a blanket of stars over them, making Bofur hard to see, making Ori cling to the sound of his voice. The older dwarf continued with a jovial softness,

“The path ahead of us is dangerous, but death is not a certainty. Look how you survived today; you might yet get to experience those things.”

Ori sat up. His side twinged but the bandages hugged him securely— _they_ had been wrapped well, it was the young dwarf who was unraveling.

Suddenly, Ori wanted to tell Bofur everything now that he had found someone who would listen.

“Well, at this point,” Ori admitted, shyly, “I’d really just settle for a kiss.”

“You’ve never been kissed?” Bofur grinned.

This made Ori feel grown-up, that someone else would have expected this of him.

“Well, no, not yet,” Ori mumbled, feeling his cheeks grow hot. He was bashful but not embarassed.

“In time, in time,” Bofur nodded and his words meant everything to Ori. They chimed with a reassuring confidence in the young dwarf that Ori hadn’t even thought to have in himself. _There will be time._

Before another word was spoken, the snapping of twigs under boots revealed that Dori was approaching. Seconds later, they were summoned to rejoin the rest of the group.

Bofur clapped a friendly hand on Ori’s shoulder as they walked, not enough to disturb the wound but just enough to let him know that they had somewhat bonded.

Ori took that feeling with him to bed, held it in his thoughts, and fell asleep thinking of that rather than the pain in his side.


End file.
